


Down

by asherranceoftheheart



Series: Bouquet of Anemones and Oleanders [2]
Category: Jacksepticeye Universe, Video Blogging RPF, jacksepticeye
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, We dine with angst my friends, uwu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 10:27:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16679893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asherranceoftheheart/pseuds/asherranceoftheheart
Summary: He was tired. He was just tired of the pain, the pretending, and the loneliness. He just wants to sleep forever.





	Down

He can feel it.

He can feel _Him._

 **He** was in the small pricks of static in the still air of his room and leaving lingering touches on his skin. **He** was in the cold gleam in the eye of his reflection when he could bear to look in the mirror. **He** was in the dark thoughts of misery, failure, and self-hatred that he battles everyday. **He** was in the sharp, dizzying taste of his whiskey when he fails the battles which was growing with every passing day. **He** was in the twitch of Chase’s hand as his eyes were drawn to the dresser where he kept his gun hidden. **He** was in the tears, the sobs, the whines of a wounded animal that rips itself from his throat whenever he was in the ‘privacy’ of his apartment.

Chase was lying on the bed, staring blankly at the dark ceiling. He ignored the squirming shadows at the corners of his eyes knowing that if **He** wanted **He** could make it even worse. Maybe **He** would turn them into the illusion of the friend that he had failed to protect from **Him** , blaming him and calling him a useless man. If **He** was in a bored state, the shadows would turn into the mockery of his darling children who would be screaming and sobbing for him before these high-pitched voices turned into jeers and accusations on how much of a failure of a father he could be.

He closed his eyes.

When he opened them, there was a light pressure of a hand wrapping itself around his neck. But he ignored that. It wasn’t anything new to him. The shortness of breath as he choked on the feelings that he was trying to suppress—

 **_No_ **, instead he was all focused on the pair of glowing acid green eyes that never failed to pierce him straight to the very core of his soul.

At the corner of his eye, he noticed the cold glint of **His** infamous knife drawing closer to his face. A few seconds later, he didn’t even flinch from the stinging bite of the knife’s sharp edge gliding lightly ( _almost lovingly_ ) across his cheek. Something warm dripped down his cheek in the same way his old tears often left a cold drying trail every night.

The hold in his throat tightened. For the first time in the night, a whimper from him disturbed the silence of the room. The being on top of him shushed him gently, a thumb pressing lightly— warningly— over his jumping pulse.

The knife trailed lower, down his cheek and past his neck, and drew light bleeding lines on his exposed shoulder. But his mind was slowly being consumed by the growing static just as he was beginning to lose all of his breath. A hand reached up to grip… No, to hold the icy cold wrist that was attached to the hand that was gripping his throat. But he made no movement to struggle out of **His** hold.

Dazed blue eyes stared straight into the bottomless pits of voids that were threatening to swallow his entire being whole. He knows he should be resisting but…

The static rose to a roaring wave, blissfully drowning out the sad, painful thoughts that plagued him every second of the day. He was floating in an infinite ocean of static, and those cold arms wrapped itself around him and dragged him deeper into its depths.

And he let **Him**.

A dark film flickered across his eyes and keeping them open was growing even more difficult as every second passed. **His** smile had grown to inhumane proportions.

“Tha͘t's͟ ͢i̷t̕..̕. **Sub̸mi͝t t̨o͞ ̸m̷e...͏** ” The voice stuttered and glitched like that of a broken record. If it were a normal day, it would have made him flinch and curl up into a ball. Now, it merely eased a part of him that was tired of everything.

Because he was tired of pretending to be someone— something that he’s not.

His eyelids slid shut, blocking out the blank blue eyes that currently held a light tint of green at its inner irises. The hand that had been loosely wrapped around **His** wrist dropped down to his chest, feeling the calming heartbeat.

The last thing he felt and heard before he fell ‘asleep’ was the cold lips that were brushed across his forehead as he was dragged down… _down._  
“Sw͘eet ͞d̕re͏ams...̡ **_my͞_ ** ͡p̶uppet.͏”

**Author's Note:**

> I would say that this is the worst idea I got for Chase but then I'd be lying.


End file.
